The epiphany tree

I intended to take our Christmas tree down by the Feast of the Epiphany.

But, it looked so regal standing there that I let it be.

I had taken a whole afternoon to remove and wrap the ornaments, entertained by the story of each as I pulled it from the branches. But, for the first time ever, I stopped there. I wanted to see that beautiful tree all lit up for at least one more night.

Two more nights.

Three more nights of driving down the street at night and seeing that tree lighting up our big bay window.

Then, I took the lights down.

Still, that tree remained in the stand.

Finally, I decided I couldn’t leave it there any longer. I worried that if we didn’t get it to the curb before the big storm hit no one would pick it up and it would be there all winter.

I unscrewed the bolts holding it to the base while my husband Vince yanked it from the stand. It wouldn’t budge. We tilted it out the door and yanked from that angle. Still, that tree clung to its stand.

It seemed to me, pushing that tree from the family side of the door while Vince yanked from the driveway, that the tree had latched on to the door frame and was refusing to leave our house.

I both admired its tenacity and empathized with its desire to stay put.

Those Christmas days are halcyon for both fir trees and mothers, the pinnacle of peace and parental productivity. We’d both like to stretch out the glory a little longer.

So, we paused there in that doorway for a moment or two.

Until a voice from the other side interrupted our musings.

“Can we get this thing moving? I have to get back to work.”

Covered in pine needles and not feeling nostalgic at all, Vince gave the tree one final yank and then dragged it to the curb.

I trotted after him to say a grateful good-bye to my stalwart companion throughout a hectic holiday season.

I said so long to Vince too.